Jameson Havenforth, a fifteen year old girl, is in the cross-roads of possibly finding out who she is. But will the past get in the way of her future? Will her life be destroyed because of something she never meant to happen?
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Chapters:

Rain splattered against the
windows. She could hear it even through her music, which she had
cranked up to nearly full blast. Her mother hated it. Her father
didn't care; he wasn't around enough to even notice what was
going on.

The song blared. Cellos violently
playing somehow created such a dark, beautiful sound. She thought
that maybe this song truly portrayed pain in the correct form...
Not that she had a firm grasp on what that really was. It changed
on a day to day basis. Depended on what had caused her pain that
day. A never ending philosophy on the real description of what it
was.

Today, as most days, the problem
was her mother.... Maybe. Or was it the kids at school? The fact
that she still didn't have a boyfriend? Was it the lack of
talent?

It honestly varried. Some people
might say she had a good life. Everything a person would need. A
family, a house with the necessities in it, clothes that weren't
entirely terrible, okay grades, and a normal amount of friends.
But something was missing. The only problem was that she had no
idea what it was, either.

She got off her perfectly made bed.
The lilac sheets and bedspread barely had a crease in them; such
was the case for nearly everything in her house. It was mostly
perfect. And bland. One might think that no one actually lived in
the house, and that instead, the house was some kind of model. A
replica of a house before a family moved in.

It wasn't always like this. There
was a time that her family functioned like any other family.
Things weren't so stiff and seemingly perfect. They had a dog,
her father was home more often. Her mom didn't work all the time.
She went out to parties and went rollerskating or to a movie with
her friends on the weekend. There was drama, yes, but like the
normal teenager kind. The "You stayed out too late," and the
"Who's dating who," kind. She was in the excel classes. But that
was before.

Thunder errupted outside. The wind
tossed around twigs and branches. They clashed against the
windows and the sides of the house.

Creeping over to the full length
mirror, she studied herself. "My name is Jameson Havenforth." She
said to herself quietly, as if she were worried that someone may
hear her. "I am fifteen years old. I have dark brown hair and
hazel eyes." She paused for a moment. "I live on 3507 Maplecrest
Drive. I go to Washington High School."

Her eyes stared at the girl in the
mirror. It was hard to believe that the person in the mirror was
her. She used to be pretty. Kind of pretty, at least. This past
year had not been kind on her. Her skin was pale and dry, her
hair dirty and oily. And then, of course, there were the scars.
There were scars from cutting herself. And then there were the
Others.

The Others were a constant reminder
of what happened. Something that haunted her every single day,
and probably would for the rest of her life. It wasn't something
she could easily forget, either; there were multiple jagged scars
that ran up and down her right arm. Some were horizontal as well.
They also ran down her right side, and her shoulder. Her torso
was covered. There were a few scars on her right thigh, and
criss-crossing ones on her ankle. There was also a slender,
jagged one that ran slanted from her cheek bone to her collar
bone.

Her finger tips slightly brushed
the cool surface of the mirror. Tears welled in her eyes, but
never spilled out onto her cheeks. She refused to cry. She hadn't
cried once since IT happened. There was no point in starting
now.

"I am nothing." She said in a
hollow voice.

Thunder and wind roared with a
fury, seeming as though they were angry with her. She clenched
her fists for no apparent reason. Anger, perhaps. Depression.
Grief, maybe? Regret?

Simultaniously, the power went out
right out at the same time she whispered the horrifying words
that were sadly the truth.